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Updated: June 2, 2025
The terrible cry which had so startled Morok was uttered by Father d'Aigrigny as the quarryman laid his formidable hand upon him, saying to Ciboule: "Make an end of that one I will begin this one!" This fact is historical. A man was murdered because a phial full of ammonia was found upon him. On his refusal to drink it, the populace, persuaded that the bottle contained poison, tore him to pieces.
A quarryman once told me that my father had appeared at the quarry at six o'clock in the morning looking quite fresh and hearty, when, taking up the heaviest sledge-hammer he could find, he gayly challenged the men to try who could throw it farthest.
"Yes, sir," said my host, the quarryman, reaching down the relics from their hook in the wall over the chimneypiece; "they've hung here all my time, and most of my father's. The women won't touch 'em; they're afraid of the story. So here they'll dangle, and gather dust and smoke, till another tenant comes and tosses 'em out o' doors for rubbish. Whew! 'tis coarse weather, surely."
"It is true," said the quarryman, surprised, after peeping into the room; "where are they, then? We were told there were a dozen of them here. They should have marched with us against the factory, or there'd 'a been a battle, and the Wolves would have tried their teeth!" "If they have not come," said another, "they will come. Let's wait." "Yes, yes; we will wait for them."
"And I your paw," said the smith, giving so violent a wrench to the leg of the quarryman, that the latter uttered a cry of acute pain, and, with the rage of a wild beast, butting suddenly forward with his head, succeeded in biting Agricola in the side of the neck. The pang of this bite forced Agricola to make a movement, which enabled the quarryman to disengage his leg.
"Come, my Wolves! attention!" cried the quarryman, still in the same stentorian voice; "one more volley, and if the Devourers do not come out, down with the door!" This proposition was received with cheers of savage ardor, and the quarryman, whose voice rose above the tumult, cried with all the strength of his herculean lungs: "Attention, my Wolves. Make ready! all together. Now, are you ready?"
Some of the most determined of the assailants were about to rush in at this entrance; but the quarryman stepped back, extending his arm as if to moderate their ardor and impose silence. Then his followers gathered round him. The half-open door discovered a party of workmen, unfortunately by no means numerous, but with countenances full of resolution.
"Don't trouble yourself," said a powerful man, approaching the missionary respectfully; "I can carry him alone." "Shall I run and fetch a coach, Mr. Curate?" said a young vagabond, taking off his red cap. "Right," said the quarryman; "run away, my buck!" "But first, ask Mr. Curate if you are to go for a coach," said Ciboule, stopping the impatient messenger.
"Make way for the omnibus of the departed!" cried Ciboule. "No danger of having one's toes crushed in that omnibus," said the quarryman. "Doubtless they're easy to please, the stiff-uns in there." "They never want to be set down, at all events." "I say, there's only one reg'lar on duty as postilion!" "That's true, the leaders are driven by a man in a smock-frock." "Oh!
Not since Hawthorne has a novelist built on the New England soil a tragedy of such elevation of mood as this. Freed from the bondage of local color, that myopic muse, Mrs. Wharton here handles her material not so much like a quarryman finding curious stones and calling out about them as like a sculptor setting up his finished work on a commanding hill.
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